Going Home
by Camfield
Summary: Home is where the heart is, not where the body resides.  Prowl/Jazz


Disclaimer: Property of Hastek. Not mine

**Going Home**

Prowl stood on the beach.

He had arrived less than a cycle ago, but he hadn't had the desire to see any of the other mechs on the base. He'd nearly stumbled off of the ship, trembling and shaking, and had immediately run from the pitying eyes of his comrades, from the understanding eyes of Optimus Prime.

It wasn't like he hadn't known; the nearly debilitating pain of a broken spark-bond had enveloped him the second Jazz had died. He'd collapsed in a heap on the deck, vocalizer screeching as it tried to give voice to his sorrow, and nothing First Aid had done had made a bit of difference.

They'd dragged him to the medbay and hooked him up to line feeds when he continued to purge his tanks and refuse Energon, had put him into stasis until shortly before landing so he wouldn't do anything stupid even.

There was music playing somewhere nearby, and it nearly drove Prowl to his knees. Jazz had loved music, loved dancing, and had constantly pestered Prowl with local offerings.

Jazz had been an entertainer back on Cybertron. One of the best, he'd attracted patrons from every corner of the planet with his musicality and personality. His shows had attracted mechs from all castes and never treated one better than the other. Jazz… hadn't cared who you were. He just loved sharing his passion with anyone who would listen.

Prowl shuttered his optics and pulled up his first memory of Jazz.

_The crowd murmured softly as the lights went off, a sure sign that the concert was starting, and slid into an excited silence. _

_The stage was one of Jazz's special effects. When a mech stepped on it the ground would light up at the point of contact, this was why people came to see Jazz. He married song and movement and the two were never discordant._

_Red, green, yellow, blue._

_Each step echoed a different color until the mech made it to center stage, then again as more mechs crossed the stage into their various positions._

_When the last mech had stopped moving lights flooded the stage to reveal Jazz standing at each instrument, servos ready. The Jazz at the microphone twisted in a graceful spin as he laughed with abandon._

"_Ah hope you ahll are ready fuh a great night!'_

_The mechs in the audience made their excitement known with loud and raucous cheers._

"_Good! Ah hope you'll sing along if you know th' words!"_

_With another graceful spin, each Jazz started to play their respective instruments and the melody came pouring over the crowd, Jazz's voice twisting and turning the tones into point and counterpoint with the different instrumental sounds, a song that was unclassified simply because it was JAZZ._

_Prowl had been there as crowd control, the more exuberant mechs could get a little obsessive about getting close to Jazz, but had forgotten himself as soon as Jazz had spoken._

_When the first song ended and Prowl snapped himself out of the stupor he was in, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was lost. Jazz was everything that he wasn't, and Prowl craved him in all ways._

Prowl slowly shook his helm. He hadn't been able to meet Jazz until they were both assigned to Optimus Prime, and had had nearly crashed when they were introduced. Jazz had just smiled, optics glinting under his visor, and clapped Prowl on the shoulder.

"Nice 'ta meetcha."

Prowl had stuttered back a reply and shot back to his office to melt into a puddle of goo on his floor. He vented hard, trying to take in air to cool his heated systems before the more noticeable fans kicked in, but in the end it had taken him a long time to even regulate his systems to the point where he was able to function.

It had gotten better though. Jazz was in the force as a saboteur, so there was no real time for pleasantries in the early days of the war. He was frequently away from the base, and when he got back Prowl made sure to spend as much time with him as possible, trying to soak up as much of the black and white mech as he could in the short time between missions.

Eventually, Prowl's persistence had paid off. Jazz had casually suggested they visit one of the local bars on one of his days off, and Prowl had jumped at the chance.

It had been a great time. Jazz had gotten him tipsy on High grade and pulled him onto the dance floor, not letting Prowl's protests bother him one bit, and spun them in wild circles around the bar.

They'd made it back to base and collapsed into Jazz's berth.

It had been vorns before they even talked about spark binding, but when Prime had chosen Jazz to go to Earth and Prowl to stay behind they had fallen into the berth with that one goal in mind.

And now that was gone.

The days in space had only made Prowl more anxious to see Jazz. To get that one high that was guaranteed to keep him happy, to keep him sane.

The human music was still playing. A low, mournful tune that Prowl watched Jazz dance to in his processor.

The slow, graceful swish of his pelvic plating, the long lines of his armor and the silhouette of his sensor horns had Prowl's fans snapping on and his doorwings quivering with barely a thought.

When the song ended Prowl onlined his optics and stood. He would miss Jazz. Pit, he missed Jazz more than he'd ever thought possible now and he couldn't imagine the pain lessening ever.

But he knew Jazz would want him to help with the war. To finish what he'd given his spark for and to make that world Megatron free.

Prowl would respect that, because as soon as Megatron was killed and this war was over he was going to go home.

He was going to go to Jazz.


End file.
